Reposted 1-12-06: Thank you, alchemy dream, for finding and correcting my mistakes once again. I love your reviews, and I love it that you point out my mistakes.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. That right belongs to George Lucas. It should be noted that some things are borrowed from Greg Bear and Jude Watson, both who write EU (Extended Universe) Star Wars books.
Writer's Block: Act I: Trial of a Man by H7. This is a Zelda fic that is rated M. The first thing that I will tell you is that this story is amazingly, wonderfully and ridiculously long (and I keep wishing that it was longer). It currently has fifty-nine chapters, and it's not even completed yet. And these aren't even little chapters either, but huge blocks of writing. This fic is action-packed, has a wonderful plot and tormented hero, and some twists in it that I could have never possibly dreamed up. I can't get over how good H7's story is. You'll enjoy reading it, trust me.
Obi-Wan finally came to that big decision, of whether his allegiances were to Anakin or the Jedi. And while none of you seemed to really like it (it kind of pulled at my heart-strings also), Obi-Wan did choose the good over Anakin. (I mean, this is Obi-Wan that we're talking about.) And did anyone pick up on how Yoda was telling Obi-Wan, just before The Big Decision, about knowing all the paths and then choosing the right one was what made a Jedi a Jedi? He was trying to prepare Obi-Wan for his final decision, if such a thing can be prepared for.
Thank you for all the reviews, I love them! You guys really make this an enjoyable experience for me, as well as a learning one. I do have one last thing that I need to tell you before you can go on to read the chapter: the next chapter is going to be the final chapter (but don't worry there's an epilogue!), but because I don't like how it turned out, I'm going to rewrite the whole chapter from scratch. This may take a while, because I need to go over my entire story and find all those little details that I need to tie into the ending and explain, and also that the ending needs to be handled very delicately or it'll be pretty unrealistic. This is going to be a tricky process; I'm juggling a candle burning at both ends, and I might get flamed if this isn't done properly. (Please ignore my pathetic attempt at a pun.) I just wanted you guys to know, so that when a new chapter doesn't come out for a while you know that there's a reasonable explanation, and it's not just because I'm lazy.
Page Amount: 4
Word Count: 3,660
Written 8-9-05
Listening to: Perfect Circle "Passive"
Written by Ice Dragon3
Jedi Genocide
Chapter Twenty-One: Jedi Rebellion
"Camp out here, we will," Yoda said to his fellow Jedi. Their current location was the moon Mustafar, in an abandoned building right by the only landing port on the whole lava-ridden orb. "Good, this position is. An advantage over Darth Vader we will have, of knowing exactly when he lands while ignorant still is he of our position. When the opportune moment arrives, when the Force calls most strongly, strike we will."
"Yes, Master Yoda," Tru Veld said tiredly. He rolled out his sleeping bag, the red thing uncurling like a loosened tongue, and sat on top of its thin but greatly appreciated padding. He didn't even try getting into it—only a madman would willingly sleep in an extra layer with all this oppressive heat about. While only a young adult in years, Tru looked more like a weary man in his late mid-life. There were already permanent lines sinking into the skin of his face, and his hair at the temple was graying.
Ten other Jedi were setting up sleeping arrangements or equipment, all of them with various tired looks on their faces. They had to move constantly, and there was no respite from the hunt. An endless flow of bounty hunters and criminals tracked them down, with the single-minded intent of killing them and collecting their colossal reward. Even worse were the Stormtroopers—keen-minded men and women who sought the Jedi's death not for the money but for the glory of their Empire; who had not only an undying source of motivation to pursue them, but the most advanced equipment with which to do so. They were like white, faceless ghosts, haunting the existence of the Jedi and willing them to the grave.
The struggle for survival was ceaseless for the Jedi. Even the Force, in its infinite power, could not replenish their energy or stave back their weariness.
"The only good thing about all this heat is that we can't be spotted with heat-detector goggles," Lorrie Tri said with a grimace, huffing a strand of sooty, once-blonde hair out of her face. It jumped in the air only to return to its former position, annoying Lorrie by tickling her nose. The sulfur in the air had darkened it to a dirty black. Only a hint of its true color was left, and within hours that, too, would be gone. "I'll be glad when we get off this molten rock."
Both hands were busy piecing together a collapsible ship-detector, made to disassemble into pieces small enough to fit into a large pocket, so the annoying strand of hair stayed where it was. The only sign Lorrie gave of acknowledging its aggravating existence was the slight frown to her mouth, and the way she rather brutally but efficiently screwed the pieces together.
"You said the same thing about that ice-planet. Hoth, I think it was…it's too hard to remember all the places we've run to. I suppose it doesn't matter, really… But whatever, that's not the point—you said you wanted to go somewhere warmer. Well, you got it," Bant Eerin joked. She rubbed her drying skin and said, as flakes of dead cells stuck to her fingers, "Personally, I wish we could get a wetter environment." She was a Mon Calamari, an amphibian humanoid race. She was suffering under this extreme heat. She looked at her half-full water bottle and sighed regretfully; she had to ration it, and could not drink from it wastefully despite her discomfort.
"Personally, I'd like civilization," Lorrie countered. "The Jedi Temple sounds sweeter and sweeter after every backwater planet we visit."
"Water…" Bant sighed.
"Computers…" Lorrie responded with a mock-sigh similar to Bant's.
"Will you two stop your moaning and groaning?" a rougher and older-looking human Jedi asked grouchily (though the growl had more of a demand to it than a question). "You're only making the rest of us feel worse. We'll get this over and done with, and then you two can have your beloved Temple back. What I want is a mission that's actually worth something, instead of all this running, running, running."
"Worth much this mission is," Yoda inputted sharply. "The fate of an entire galaxy, on our shoulders it rests."
"Sorry, Master Yoda," the dark-haired Jedi said sheepishly with a bow. "My word choice was poor—I meant a mission that's more of normal protocol. You know, where a Jedi Knight goes out and helps to solve problems on his own…"
"Accepted your apology is. A warning though, to think more carefully before speaking," Yoda admonished. "Alone you prefer to be, Ryn, but work with others you must do so now, to save the Galactic Republic and this galaxy from those who would destroy it."
Yoda's words had an affect on him. The impatience and irritation that had filled him—pacing inside him like a caged, hungry tiger with wild golden eyes—emptied out, leaving an exhausted body and mind in its absence. "I know that we must do this. It's just so taxing," he confessed, "I hardly feel like I'm living in this body anymore. I'm just giving it commands from some high-up perch, hoping that it'll last through one more day without completely breaking down."
"One more day might be all we need," Lorrie chuckled as she screwed on the neck of the ship-detector. As she twisted it on, her fingers throttled it tightly to emphasize her point.
"Optimistic in a morbid sense," Bant concluded about Lorrie.
"At least I've got a positive attitude," Lorrie retorted. "The rest of you look and act like zombies. I've seen banthas with more personality. And they're a pretty dull mammal, so I must say that that's an outstanding feat. I would congratulate you…but unfortunately, that's not a good accomplishment."
Bant opened her mouth to say something back, but Tru cut into their conversation. "Get some rest, you two. We already ate today's meal, and the best way to keep your strength is to sleep. Tomorrow we're going to need everything we've got."
"What about strategizing?" Bant asked.
"Leave that to Yoda," Tru nodded his head respectfully at Yoda, who was meditating on his small sleeping bag. "I trust that he'll get us through this. We'll hear the plan tomorrow, after he's worked out all the details in his head. Anything you say now will just break his concentration."
His speech wavered off as exhaustion ate away his concentration, and he looked around for a little while before picking the conversation up again, "…Though it's hard to tell with all the light given off by the lava, I'd say that it's getting late. Sleep." He laid down on his sleeping bag and attempted to drift off to sleep. But he had trouble—the mind could not rest while the body suffered. The heat was making his skin sticky; his sleeping bag clung to him in an irritating manner. The thin padding barely cushioned his body from the hard, remorseless ground.
Bant sighed. "That's all we seem to do—sleep. I still say that sleeping isn't going to make up for the fact that we only eat one-and-a-half meals a day. There's only so many times you can fool your stomach."
"You forgot the other major part of our lives—running," Lorrie pointed out. "We do a hell of a lot of running."
"Jedi shouldn't use such foul words," Tru mumbled from where he laid on his sleeping bag, still trying to find a position that was comfortable enough to sleep in. Rocks jabbed at him no matter how he turned. Right now one was digging into his shoulder blade—he shifted a little to his left, and just as soon as the pressure in his shoulder let up another one was digging into his stomach. "Swearing is improper, and often gives an inaccurate description, thus making it obsolete. Far better adjectives and nouns exist to more adequately explain your situation."
Bant leaned in closer to Lorrie and agreed in a whisper that Tru couldn't hear, "We do do a hell of a lot of running."
"This way Darth Vader comes, and near he is," was Yoda's first words to them, a chilling wakeup call. They stretched, forcing stiff joints to loosen up. They'd had little restful sleep, harassed by nightmares and physical discomforts as they were. But none of the weariness, none of the tired playfulness from last night, was displayed in their faces now. They were Jedi on a mission with their goal in sight. They were completely serious.
The sound of Bant's breathing was a raspy sound as her lungs tried to accept the dry air. A coughing fit attacked her as heated air and soot scorched her lungs, and she wistfully thought of the damper air of her homeland that her lungs were meant for. She took a swig from her lukewarm (and it was perhaps even a few degrees hotter) water bottle and her breathing evened out a little. "How far away is he?" she asked, pushing away the itching pain in her lungs. Her throat tickled, and she couldn't completely stop the small fit of coughs that spilled out of her mouth. "What is the plan?"
"In ten minutes, be here he should," Yoda said. "Wait I did until the last possible moment to wake you, to give you all the rest you could have. As for the plan: wait we will until he leaves his ship. Disable the hyperdrive engine and controls of his ship we will, to give him no means of escape, and then attack him we will. Shield our combined presences from him I cannot do for long, so we must abandon tactic for speed once the battle begins."
"Now there's a plan I like," Ryn said with a grin. "Nice and simple. Less ways for it to get complicated, then, and less chances of it failing."
"We should eat while we wait. Get all the strength we can," Tru said as he took a bite out of his protein cube. "We'll need it. And after this is done, hopefully we won't have to go back into hiding. I'm getting sick of eating these protein cubes—a meal that doesn't involve a parallelogram would be nice." He chuckled, but that quickly turned to a grimace as he took another bite out of his block of food. "Returning to regular society sounds good to me."
"Doubt that we can, I do," Yoda said with a shake of his head. "Change the Empire won't in a day. Bide our time we will still have to, until the Empire crumbles from within. Only live without fear we will, should we defeat this adversary. The rest—comforts, families, contact with society—come later they will."
"I take it that means that we'll still be on the run," Lorrie said in a glum tone. Her shoulders hunched over as her half-starved body leaned forward, almost seeming to curl into itself.
A ship landed on the dock, a faint clanging sound arising and echoing over to their hiding spot as metal struck metal. Darth Vader has arrived, it declared with its metallic, imperial boom.
"Time, it is," Yoda said, taking out his lightsaber but not lighting it. "Remember, shielded our presence I have, but disable the ship we must do quickly before detects us he does. Soon as he leaves, move we must." Soot-covered faces nodded grimly in understanding.
Darth Vader walked out of his ship, looking impeccable and commanding in his black uniform. It was pristine and sharp, with the air of being unwieldy—but at the same time Vader's movements were surprisingly liquid and fluid. His long, black cape was stagnant in the oppressive, unmoving air, a long sheet of black ink dribbling straight to the ground. Darth Vader had the appearance of an emperor—he was an emperor. Compared to the ragtag band of Jedi in their sooty, torn garments and underfed figures, he seemed the essence of sophistication. Refinement. His harsh blue eyes gazed around lazily, and he appeared content to stay where he was, standing with his polished boots aggressively spaced apart on the metal platform.
"What if he doesn't move?" Bant hissed quietly, the sound almost lost within the gurgling of lava bubbles popping below. "How do we sabotage his ship, then?" Yoda motioned with a knobby hand for her to remain silent, fearing that Vader would hear the words with the aid of the Force and become aware of their position.
"There's no need for you to remain hiding, Jedi," Darth Vader said coldly, the words drifting over the shimmering, hot air like an icy breeze, chilling all their hearts. "I can feel your collected presence."
"Don't move," Yoda whispered urgently, but by the time the command was spoken Ryn was already rushing past him, lightsaber drawn and activated. Ryn gave a battle cry, swinging his blue lightsaber over his head as he rushed at the Sith. Before any of them could react, Ryn fell to the floor—twice—his torso detaching from his legs with a sick squelching sound. The two separate body parts hit the floor with meaty thuds and moved no more.
Darth Vader held his lightsaber in a fisted hand before him, the blue blade and red blade shining sinisterly like lanterns lighting the way to Hell. He asked coldly, "Either you underestimate me, or I have overestimated you—a disappointment, either way."
"Changed the plan has. Follow my lead." Yoda placed his gimer stick down and walked out to meet Vader without it; it would hinder his ability to fight and weaken his appearance. "Darth Vader, seems it does that you knew of our coming."
"I know more than you think, even now. My reach is long, my strength in the Force incomparable. You will all die here on this hellish world." He snarled, baring his teeth like an aggressive panther facing down a weaker foe. "A befitting death for hypocritical saviors."
"Twisted you have become," Yoda said with remorse. "Twisted is your truth. All ends here." His small green lightsaber activated as he took a fighting stance. The Jedi behind him pulled out their lightsabers as well. Bars of green and blue hovered behind Yoda's small form. The lighting from below, in the form of lava, lit their backs in a deep blood red, shadowing their fronts. Only the light from their lightsabers made their individual faces, tinted the color of their blade, distinguishable. They were somber, soot-covered skulls hovering over the black abyss of their shadowed bodies, executioners lined up for the sentencing of the Final Judgment.
Darth Vader sneered, and there was no fear in his eyes. "It ends for some." Baring his teeth, he charged at Yoda. Bant jumped in front of the small Jedi Master to protect him, a determined look in her eyes, but Vader slashed at her side and she went down with a raspy cry. Vader pressed the attack on Yoda, only pausing to lash out at those who tried to interfere with their personal duel. It was obvious that his first goal was to kill Yoda. The others would die afterwards, if they weren't already cut down in the process of killing the green, child-sized humanoid.
Darth Vader planned to cut off the head of the snake, and then watch with satisfaction as the body withered and twitched before dying.
Bant gritted her teeth, holding her hurting side and trying to keep the wound from gapping open. The stench of burnt flesh clogged her nostrils and coated her tongue, and it was all she could taste and smell. Panting, she stumbled to her feet. She looked around and saw that three others had already joined the Force like Ryn. Giving a cry, she lunged at Vader once more, aiming her lightsaber at the back of his head. Without even turning around, he Force pushed her back with a flick of his hand. He didn't miss a beat, and in the same motion also swung his blade at Yoda. The green humanoid blocked the slash, as he had all the other ones. His stance expressed defense and patience; Darth Vader seethed anger and hate.
"You fight like Obi-Wan did," Vader taunted Yoda, "when I defeated him four years ago. But your fate will be less kind than his—I intend to kill you. I will kill you. And then I'll kill all your fellow Jedi. One by one they will suffer and die. The Force cannot save you. Can you not feel it receding from you? Can you not see the shaking of your hands?"
Yoda said nothing, his green eyes speaking the thoughts he did not need to voice.
Bant lunged to her feet again, fighting against the unbalanced feeling in her body and another coughing fit. She couldn't lose. Everything depended on this—the galaxy, her life, the lives of millions. She had to keep fighting. Until she won, or until she died, she could not stop. She resigned herself to those two options. She had no others. She jumped into the fray, fighting by Yoda. The green Jedi covered her more than she did him, but Bant couldn't help that she was weakened, and she couldn't give up and stay out of the fight. She pressed, drawing the Force around her to gain strength. Her side screamed in pain, but she ignored it. The only fortunate thing of a shallow lightsaber wound was that it did not bleed.
Lorrie fell, a surprised look on her face as her eyes glazed over. Her neck was black, the flesh burnt and shriveled from where Darth Vader's lightsaber had sunken into it. Bant felt despair claw at her chest as her friend's body shuddered one last time on the ground before stilling. It was as if she couldn't breathe, that her body had died with Lorrie's—until she felt Tru's solid presence by her side. Her friend was attacking with all he had, blocking only when absolutely necessary. Though Vader managed to deflect every one of his blows, he never relented in his attacks. His eyes and hands never wavered. Seeing him fight with such resolve strengthened her own will, and she felt honored at being able to fight alongside such brave friends.
Tru and Bant, along with Yoda, were the only ones left now. All the others had fallen to Vader's brutal swings. Tru crumpled to the ground, crying out in pain. He curled up into a ball, clutching his wounded stomach. He was trying to hold in his intestines, which threatened to spill out of his gapping abdomen, and shock was the only thing keeping him alive. The recognition that he would die was starting to set in, and life was ebbing out of him quickly through twitching fingers. His breath hitched as a spasm ran through his body; blood spurted out of his wound, glistening on his hands and the filthy ground around him. Only one thought, one sensation, was left in his body and mind—pain, unending, inescapable pain.
Bant, distracted by her compassion for her dying friend, didn't see the red lightsaber swinging towards her chest. Horrified, she looked down when she heard the sound of a lightsaber sizzling into flesh, the fat popping from the heat. She stared, shocked, at the lightsaber embedded in her torso. Darth Vader casually pulled the humming blade from her chest, already turning away and dismissing her. She dropped to the ground, dead before her head even knocked against the rusty durasteel of the landing port, her heart no more than vaporized ashes in an empty crater.
Yoda faced off against Darth Vader alone. They fought silently now, each trading blows, attacking and defending. The blades, green, blue, red, clashed and buzzed in the air. It was a musical sound, a beautiful humming—it was a horrible sound, an angry buzz of death in the form of parasitical flies. Yoda finally saw an opening in Vader's defense and swung his lightsaber at the Sith's right, robotic hand. But Anakin's mechanical arm halted the green blade's motion, the Cortosis plates layered on it withstanding the intense heat of the lightsaber blade.
Yoda's eyes widened, and he in his infinite wisdom could not possibly be blind to the consequence of his mistake made in ignorance.
"Surprised?" Vader gloated, a smirk contorting his lips; "Obi-Wan didn't tell you about my arm being coated in Cortosis, did he? Your lightsaber is as useless as you are." And, with Yoda's blade still locked onto his arm, he tossed his blade to his other hand and swung at Yoda.
The life drifted out of Yoda's wise, sad green eyes as his body came to rest on the floor.
Darth Vader walked over to Tru, his dual-bladed lightsaber hanging loosely in his fingers. Tru was still gasping, barely on the edge of life as he, in a futile action, pressed his hands to the cavity in his stomach. "Even you… You were my friend," Darth Vader said softly, hate dancing in his voice like a whirlwind of man-eating demons ringing a burning pit of human bodies. "You were my friend, and you tried to kill me." The molten atmosphere seemed to reach a new fevered pitch, the lava far below bubbling up in tumultuous motion, popping and oozing like festering wounds.
Tru stared up at his former friend, pain clouding all thoughts in his mind; there was nothing comprehensible in his gaze anymore, no sign of intelligence or recognition. Pain reduced him to the lowest mammal. His flexible body contorted into grotesque shapes, spasms of pain racing in his veins as his heart pumped liquid lava through him.
"But I'll do this one last favor for you, for an old friend," Darth Vader went on to say. "I'll give you a quick ending."
He gutted Tru on his red lightsaber blade, and left the twisted form on the dirty ground, hardly human.